The Wrathful and the Sullen
by Di The Creator
Summary: When Lt. Marla McGivers is recruited as a historian in the discovery of a mysterious 300 year old Earth vessel, she is unexpectedly torn between her duty to Starfleet and her inexplicable devotion to a warlord out of time—Khan.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This was written on a whim for fun and takes place prior to the events of Star Trek Into Darkness. Even though I tend to be a stickler for detail and technicalities, I am not a Vulcan. For the sake of brevity (and less work on my part, won't lie) I skirted around any explanations regarding Khan's apparent change in ethnicity.

Also, I probably never would have written this had I not been inspired by the many wonderful YouTube videos of hahagirl727TV! All comments (good or bad) appreciated. And go check out her channel, too! :D

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CHAPTER-01:

**[ - Lt. Marla McGivers, Personal Log—Stardate 2258.3:**_Yesterday I was behind a desk at Starfleet Academy. Now I'm on board the _USS Mandolin_. I was hand-picked by Admiral Marcus himself for an assignment at Starbase 12 where I'm told they need my expertise in 20__th__ Century Earth history. I can't even begin to guess what that means. I was told I would be briefed on the details en route. It's all so hush-hush that I can't help wondering what they would need _me_ for. I'm just a historian..._ **-]**

One hour into the voyage, the captain of the starship, Captain Horig, called her to the conference room. There were only three of them in there. The Captain, Marla, and one other man whose uniform did not belong to the starship they were aboard. He was young, perhaps in his thirties, and dressed in the generic slate gray Starfleet uniform that shaped him like a toy soldier, his neck confined in a collar like a neck brace.

"Lieutenant McGivers," Captain Horig addressed her when she entered, a warm smile appearing. "This is Commander Andrew Lassiter."

"Have a seat, Lieutenant," Lassiter's voice was surprisingly soft, almost laughably so.

She seated herself in a vacant chair at the far end of the small conference table, facing her superior officers with outward calm, even though she was restless with curiosity.

"You are well aware," Lassiter began, leaning forward in his seat for dramatic emphasis, "that the operation you've been assigned to is deemed classified."

"Yes, sir."

"Whether it stays classified or is cleared for public release will be based on your input."

A new weight was added to her sense of purpose here, and she felt her throat go dry. "What is it that I can do, Commander? I worked the archives at the Academy, that's all."

"But you graduated the top of your class and specialize in twentieth century Earth history. You ought to know how few people there are with those credentials."

"I'm sure there are others more qualified than I am, sir. But I will certainly do my best."

"I think you'll do just fine." He offered her a reassuring smile, making her feel suddenly like a child. "Now, onto the meat of the matter so that you can see why you're so important..."

Lassiter nodded to the captain, who reached forward to tap a few buttons on the computer console. The screen that hung over the center of the conference table flickered to life, and projected on it was the image of a ship. An old ship, which had obviously seen a great deal of wear and tear. It wasn't just any run of the mill vessel, however, and recognition of it made Marla's lips part with a fascinated smile.

"A DY-100…" she breathed. As the image was zoomed in, she canted her head.

"I told you it was a 100 and not a 200," Horig grinned at the Commander.

"You know what it is, then?" Lassiter seemed impressed.

"Yes, sir," she couldn't peel her eyes from the lone object as it hung in space. "These were built around the early 1990's."

"That was our general conclusion," he said. "It was found floating in the Gamma 400 System with barely readable life signs on board. Approximately eighty or so individual life forms, all of them in cryogenic sleep."

"It's a sleeper ship?" She didn't mean to interrupt, but this was getting more and more exciting by the minute!

"Apparently. The ship has no identification, aside from a name: The _SS Botany Bay_. There is no registration number, no information on its computers—from what we were able to access on the antiquated motherboards—and no discernible IDs on the sleeping crew."

"The _Botany Bay_…" She repeated the name under her breath, letting the familiarity stir up her stored knowledge. "That was the name of an Earth penal colony."

"It's embarrassing how long it took us to research that same fact," Lassiter mumbled. "But, yes. Same name, but that doesn't give us much information. There's no indication that the crew are either prisoners or guards or neither. We were able to find out which of the crew was the leader. When we boarded the ship, its system automatically attempted to revive him. Nearly killed him due to the old, faulty circuits, but we managed to extract him from the container in one piece."

"He's alive?" She tried not to sound too hopeful.

"And well. Exceeding well, actually." The Commander sounded more concerned than relieved. "We have him in induced coma. He recovered immediately from what would normally kill a person, and only seems to get healthier by the day."

"You think he's one of the unaccounted for augments?" she inferred from Lassiter's frown. "One of the genetically altered people of the Eugenics Wars?"

"Everything seems to be pointing that way. And if he's an augment, then the 72 other survivors of his crew might be as well. Either way, we can't risk waking any of them. Especially not until we have an idea of who they are and why their ship left Earth in the first place."

"I don't think I could be any help in identifying people," she said ashamedly. "The records from those years are so scarce, there's nothing to refer to."

"That's exactly why we need you, Lieutenant. If there were enough records at our disposal, we could do this on our own. As it is, though, we need an investigator who know has a lot of information on that time era at their disposal. And if we _can_ wake any of these people, we could learn a lot from them about the late Twentieth Century."

"Living people from 300 years ago…" she murmured distractedly, a small smile of wonder touching her lips. "It's hard to believe."

"So is a half-crazed Romulan from the distant future sucking Federation planets into black holes, and look what that got us," Captain Horig finally decided to add his two cents.

Commander Lassiter kept his attention on Marla. "You'll have access to what little data has been collected from the _Botany Bay_. When we reach Starbase 12, where the _Botany Bay_'s been towed, you'll be allowed to do your investigating."

"Will I be allowed to see the leader? The one in induced coma?"

"I'll see to it that you have clearance. I'm sure you'd like to dive right into the file, so you're dismissed for the rest of the voyage. If you have any questions, I'll answer to the best of my knowledge or liberty."

She rose to her feet, "Thank you, sir. It's such an honor to have this opportunity I hardly know what to say."

He smirked and seemed to contain a laugh, a hand waving her away. "That's all, Lieutenant."

When she left the conference room, she let her smile fully grow. This was beyond exciting! With all the restrictions on time travel, and the Federation's general paranoia about it, the opportunity to engage with anything directly from Earth's history was nearly impossible. It was unheard of. And yet, here was the _Botany Bay_, a virtual time capsule from one of the most fascinating and terrifying eras of the past.

Already she began to speculate what would drive so many people out into deep space in a time when space travel was still in its infancy. And the knowledge of the one revived man being a genetically engineered human sent a shudder of excitement through her.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter-02:

Marla was so engrossed in reading the report on the discovery of the _Botany Bay_ that the remainder of the voyage seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. The few images that were provided with the report (she suspected there were a lot more) only showed the interior of the DY-100. It looked like a mausoleum, the walls lined with glass coffins and peacefully sleeping figures inside. Of the 80 or so crew members, 12 had died ages ago from damage to their chambers, leaving them as nothing but remarkably perfect skeletons.

There were no close-up photographs of any of the sleeping crew, but from their physiques in the photos she could tell they were an athletic and attractive group. What she wanted was an image of the mysterious leader, but there was none.

When the _USS Mandolin_ docked at Starbase 12, she was directed to her new quarters. There, she was expected to peruse the records further until she would be called upon. She had seen about as much as she was able to determine from the scant information, and found herself waiting and bored instead. So far, service in Starfleet had been one long wait—a wait to be made useful. She sometimes wished she had gone into archaeology, maybe then she would be busy excavating something somewhere rather than staring at screens and data. There was too little excitement in being a historian, no matter how stirring it was to her personal interest and imagination.

This was her fourth day on the Starbase, and she was beginning to fear she had many more ahead of her. Maybe she should take up painting again...

A voice echoed over the intercom: "_Lieutenant Marla McGivers, report to conference room 24 on the Administration Deck immediately."_

It took a moment for her to realize it was her name being uttered on the loud speaker. With a jolt of excitement, she made her way to the nearest turbo lift. Upon reaching the Administration Deck, boots carried her rapidly along the numbered rooms, a stiff necked dance being conducted as she and other Starfleet uniforms wove past each other through the corridors.

Room 24.

Smoothing her hands down the fabric of her skirt, she lifted her chin and stepped through the automatic doors. Inside was a vast, oval table of a sleek obsidian color and smoothness. She immediately spotted Commander Lassiter standing at the far end of the room, a window of stars behind him as he quietly conversed with an older man, whom she recognized instantly as Admiral Alexander Marcus. It felt like a block of ice dropped in her stomach.

In total, there were seven people in that room (including her), ranking from Commander, to Lieutenant Commander, a Vulcan medical officer, and a few science officers. By the stripes of their uniforms, she was made painfully aware of her low position on the hierarchy of that room.

"Lieutenant McGivers!" Lassiter's voice drew her attention, and one wave of his hand beckoned her to him. When she was near enough, he gestured to the older gentleman in front of him. "I was just informing Admiral Marcus of your credentials."

The admiral looked at her with a pair of harsh blue eyes beneath a stern, rounded crown of a head. He wore his epaulets with clear confidence.

"Lieutenant," he said crisply. "You'll be our specialist in this operation. Seems we're short on experts in the Twentieth Century these days. Glad to have you."

"Thank you, sir," she smiled.

"Take a seat," he returned a brief, but genuine smile, before he moved to the oval table.

The moment that the admiral took his chair, every officer followed suit. Marla seated herself at the chair that sat ninety degrees from Marcus's position, which afforded her a good vantage point of all who were present. Lassiter sat beside her, the Vulcan medical officer directly in front of her.

"All right, people," the admiral's voice carried with little effort. "We're here to discuss the recent discovery of the _SS Botany Bay_. In case if anyone is wondering just why I'm here, it's because this discovery is unprecedented, and depending on how this is dealt with, could substantially affect the Federation and Starfleet. Five days ago, the _Botany Bay_ was found adrift in the Gamma 400 Section with no apparent destination and no active crew. Most of you know that it did in fact have a crew, all of which were in a cryogenic sleep. We have every reason to believe that these people are the missing criminals of the Eugenics Wars, genetically engineered men and women who were never brought to justice. That leaves their fates in our hands."

Screens that were placed at the center of the table suddenly flickered on, showing the same pictures that Marla had been staring at for the past few days of the ship and the ambiguous figures of the sleeping crew.

"The leader of this crew has been taken in custody," Admiral Marcus continued. "He was automatically revived by the ship's system, but we kept him in an induced coma until he could be identified. Dr. Sivak, would you like to take it from here?"

The Vulcan nodded once and spoke in a clear, concise voice (as was expected). "Prior to the patient's admission into the infirmary, he was unconscious with vital signs eighty-three point two percent below the functional level of any Human. From the moment we began to monitor his vitals, it was evident that his body was recovering independently of any external assistance. His heart was pumping on its own and with increasing efficiency. Brain activity showed much the same recovery. Knowing that the patient was three centuries removed from his own time, we resolved to put him into induced coma to spare him of the shock while his body was still in the regeneration process. As of two days ago, the sedative worked less and less proficiently. His system was beginning to counteract the drug, and the more that we administered, the more his body overcame its effects. We were forced to synthesize a unique sedative in order to keep him in the coma. His vitals are at one hundred percent."

"As of two days ago, however," Marcus joined in, speaking to the rest of the gathered officers, "I authorized to wake him up. And he's asking questions, which is damn infuriating because over the past seventy hours or so, he's asked a lot but hasn't told us a damn thing about who he is and where his ship was going. That's where you come in."

Marla froze when she realized the admiral was speaking to her.

"You're the only person we have who might have an idea what kind of mindset someone from that time era would have. And if you can't get him to talk, you still might be able to help us in identifying him."

"Could he not be talking because of the shock?" she asked, her eyes glancing to Dr. Sivak.

"Apart from initial confusion," the Vulcan explained stoically. "The patient remained calm and inquisitive. His behavior and brain circuitry pattern indicate high intelligence. To put it plainly, he has not and is not likely to suffer shock in these circumstances."

Marla stared in wonder. How could someone not be shocked to wake up three hundred years in the future in deep space?

"The _Botany Bay_ is docked here at Starbase 12 and is being carefully examined," said Marcus. "Meanwhile, he's been given his own quarters here, but with security posted at the door. So far, he's been treated with respect and has even been given limited access to the computer records that he might catch up on a few centuries worth of information. For all we've given him, he's still tightlipped. Lieutenant McGivers, at the conclusion of this conference, you'll be taken to his quarters for an interview."

She was surprised he didn't use the word 'interrogation.' Either way, she swallowed down her apprehension and nodded. "Yes, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter-03:

It was an ink-drenched shroud, punctured to let in only specks of lights. Even the nearby planetoid was barren and lifeless. To most people, this infinity was enough to drown their self-worth. To him, it was infinite potential waiting to be realized. But not alone.

He awoke in a foreign place, being examined and scrutinized by an alien. This creature seemed human in all aspects, save for the pointed ears and unusually keen expression. The room, when he was able to focus through the waning effects of the sedative, was an infirmary. The few questions he managed to voice were answered by the pithy, pointed-eared doctor.

_How long?_

_ We estimate you have been sleeping for approximately two-hundred and sixty years._

_ My crew?_

_ Safely recovered._

That was two days ago. Since then, they had denied him very little and introduced him to their computer systems so that he could pass the time in his recovery while educating himself on this strange new world what he found himself in. Just the same, they clearly didn't know what to do with him.

They prodded him with endless questions regarding his name, origin, and destination. Some questions were blatantly direct, such as whether or not he was the result of genetic engineering. It was obvious that he was, but he did not empower them with certainty. All the while, his crew—his people and only family—were maintained in their cryogenic sleep, stored away and referred to as little more than artifacts. They did not belong here, and he did not want to.

He sat quietly in his room, watching the field of stars pass by as the starbase moved slowly in its orbit around the planetoid. His so-called rescuers may have been courteous to him, but there were guards posted at his door. If they expected him to be contained for their entertainment, they obviously didn't know who he was.

There wasn't even a knock before his door suddenly hissed open. He listened as three sets of boots entered, one lighter than the other two. He kept his back against them his eyes fixed on the star field.

"Is it common hospitality in this century to post security officers at your guest's door?" he asked quietly.

"If you'd cooperate and talk to us, such precautions wouldn't be needed." The voice that replied was new. It was gruff, matter-of-fact, and generally repellent in its arrogance.

He turned to survey his callers. An Admiral, a Commander, and a red-haired Lieutenant. It was the latter who held his gaze the longest. The two superior officers made no attempt to hide their regard for him as a potential threat. It was how he was used to being seen. But the Lieutenant… a fine featured, but by no means frail, woman. She looked at him differently. She seemed to be smiling.

"Admiral Alexander Marcus," the arrogant one introduced himself with apparent anticipation of applause. "I've been told some interesting things about you."

"And I've read some interesting things about you, Admiral," he pointed to the nearby desk that held a computer. "A _prestigious_ career."

The admiral's face soured a bit at the smug attitude. "We're not your enemies here. We can't much help you if we don't know who you are."

"By the laws of your Federation, neither can you _harm_ us if you don't know who we are."

"If you are who we think you are, we could promise you your life." Such mercy somehow sounded unnatural from Marcus.

It was not yet easy to tell if this Starfleet was as knowledgeable as it praised itself to be, and he did not know if his people or even his name held any weight three hundred years after the dust of war had settled.

"And who am I?" He kept his voice cold, but severe.

"Khan Noonien Singh," a silken voice replied, but with a confidence and certainty that made his eyes flash to her, taken aback.

The admiral and commander seemed just as surprised, the former looking to her skeptically, then back to their mystery guest.

"Are you certain?" Marcus asked her. "What's this based on?"

Her eyes never left Khan, a small smile touching her full lips and her cheeks flushed ever so slightly. "Am I wrong?"

She ignored her superior officer and spoke directly to him. Her bravery, or perhaps stupidity, provoked an approving smirk from him. He was out of his time, yet she gave him the honor of recognition. She was the first thing to stand out in this world of conformity.

"You are not."

"Holy shit." The oath wisped out of the commander.

"That changes things," said Admiral Marcus. Taking his commander by the elbow, he pulled him towards the corner for a hushed conference.

The lieutenant, meanwhile, watched him with a childlike intrigue. "I'm a historian," she volunteered the information. "I've made a particular study of powerful figures in Earth history. I would know any Alexander the Great or Leif Erickson if they walked into the room. I know you."

She was not afraid of him, but she was not condemning him either. In fact, in those bright eyes of hers, he was sure he saw enthrallment. In spite of her rank, there was something superior about this woman.

"But I don't know you," he moved nearer to her. With each step, he could visibly see her heart pound harder in her chest. Yes, she was attracted to him. He extended a hand to her, palm up. "What is your name?"

"McGivers, Marla," her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, apparently at the automatic militaristic response.

Her hand rested on top of his. It was soft, warm, and could be crushed as easily as a bird's egg. His fingers had just begun to curl gently around her knuckles when the admiral and commander reappeared from their huddle. She withdrew from his grasp and stepped back, hands clasping at her back as she made room for her superiors.

"It seems in the best interest of all parties involved that the name Khan Noonien Singh fades away this very moment. That is, unless if you want to be subjected to a tribunal for your war crimes, which are among the few records to survive the war. Here's what'll be done…" The Admiral propped his fists on his hips, no doubt to convey some authority.

Khan only narrowed his eyes with merciful tolerance as he listened.

"Starfleet can use a man like you," the admiral showed some veneration. "God knows we're short on people who know how to fight a war, especially with the Vulcans always breathing down our necks about protocols and regulations. We have a war on our horizon with a race known as the Klingons. They're barbarians who have about as much regard for our 'logic' and 'morals' as a boot has for a beetle."

"It isn't my war," Khan almost wanted to laugh at his trifling cause.

"It is now," the Admiral's brow furrowed fiercely. "Whether or not you like it, you're in Federation space. As an Earth inhabitant you are subject to Federation laws. You could be put back into suspended animation with the rest of your crew and quite possibly be condemned to death. Or…" He changed his voice to make the alternative sound more appealing. "We assign you a new name, put you to work in whatever way you're most skilled. If I were you, I'd go with the latter. I think you'll agree we could all benefit from it."

Khan could feel the embers in his blood catching flame with insult. "If you were as wise as you flatter yourself to be, Admiral, you would provide me and my crew with a ship and allow us the freedom to continue on our journey. We were destined to forge on to prosperity, not _follow_ in someone else's war."

"If the Klingons conquer this galaxy, you'll see just how small space can get and how quickly. You of all people should know how easily populations are conquered and manipulated."

Marcus spoke as though he knew what it was to live in those days. He was miserably ignorant and Khan craved to hear the snapping of his neck. But, the unfortunate truth was that Khan was equally as ignorant of the present time in which he occupied. He could not hope to advance or survive on his own until he learned more. He could not help his people. And Marcus was inviting him directly into the heart of the power of the Federation.

"And the rest of my crew?" he asked at last, keeping his voice level. "Will you wake them?"

"I don't think so," Marcus scoffed. "One of you is enough."

One is more than enough. "Then will you guarantee their protection?"

"It's guaranteed," he said with a confident nod. "We have highly equipped facilities to keep their cryo-tubes working and their vitals monitored."

The thought of his closest friends—his family—being stored like frozen meat was infuriating, but he breathed in slowly to maintain calm. "You said you wanted to employ by strongest skill." He canted his head slightly to the admiral. "What skills do you _need_?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter-04

**[ - Lt. Marla McGivers, Personal Log—Stardate 2258. 25:**_It's been 22 days since I introduced myself to Khan Noonien Singh—now called John Harrison. It's hard to believe that such a beautiful looking man, so slender and cool in his demeanor, once ruled a quarter of the planet. But then, he did have a charisma about him that put into perspective the accounts that he was loved as much as he was feared. It would be difficult _not_ to fall into his orbit._

_I haven't seen him at all since that first meeting, but I have heard from Commander Lassiter all about his progress. Admiral Marcus decided that the skill most needed by Starfleet was that of weapon specialist. I hear the admiral's daughter is in that field, but too few people are making any innovations in that regard. Khan—I mean, John Harrison—gladly volunteered his services. Marcus seemed skeptical, but when I reminded him of the accomplishments during the Eugenics Wars, he agreed. He immediately began to educate Harrison in all technology currently available to us. He excelled in concepts that have only been discovered in the past century, things that I never could understand properly while a cadet at the academy. I've never seen a Vulcan learn anything so quickly and so well. _

_I only hear these things through Lassiter, who tells me as much as I want to know and as much as I'm allowed to know. Meanwhile, they seem determined to occupy me with busy work, like examining the scavenged computer of the _Botany Bay, _which is all that's left of the ship. Marcus ordered it destroyed as a derelict vessel without even consulting me about its historical value. Even I've been sworn to secrecy, which makes this entire situation feel more covert than it needs to be. _

_I've asked repeatedly for the opportunity to interview John Harrison, to learn from him first-hand about the 20__th__ Century and to hear his side of the historical texts. Lassiter said that Marcus has no problem with me interviewing Harrison, but it seems everyone is busy these days except for me…_**-]**

Another week passed since her log entry, and there was no word from Lassiter or Marcus regarding the interview. She was past frustrated and had moved on to angry. They asked her to be in this program, not the other way around.

Wherever Marcus had assigned Khan to work, it was locked by a security code in the computer system. She knew of no other way to find Khan than at his personal quarters. It was audacious, maybe even rude, but she was willing to take the risk. Even if Khan sent her away, she hoped to at least catch another glimpse of him. It was difficult to stay away.

When she sounded the annunciator at his door, her heart thrummed in her ears with each second that passed by. Her palm already felt sweaty around the PADD that was clutched at her side. A minute that seemed like an hour passed and her anxious mind told her to walk away.

Sucking in a breath, she pivoted on her heel to make a quick escape. She had barely taken one step when she collided with something solid and immovable. The air was knocked out of her lungs, the PADD from her hands. But she didn't hear it hit the floor. Lifting her eyes, she was met with vivid green eyes that seemed to pin her where she stood.

"Lieutenant McGivers," the voice vibrated right through her.

She was momentarily stunned, but realizing how stupidly she must have been staring, she moved backward in an attempt to compose herself. "I came to—Well, I was hoping— " As if her stammering wasn't bad enough, her back hit the closed door to his quarters. She then noticed why her PADD never hit the ground when she dropped it. He caught it.

Though his striking eyes never left her, he showed no response to her bumbling. He looked so different than when they first met. Black hair, which had been regal in its previous style, was now cropped short and militaristic. Though his shoulders were still strong with displayed pride, they were now squared by a charcoal-colored Starfleet uniform that hugged his long neck. Were it not for those eyes and his proud demeanor, he would have blended in with every other human man in Starfleet. She felt a heaviness in her chest at the very idea.

"Admiral Marcus granted me permission to interview you," she found her voice at last. "To learn more about when and where you come from."

"You already know _when _and _where_ I come from," he smirked sardonically. "Your history books are quite informative on the subject."

His gaze finally pulled away from her, a long arm reaching around her to hit the button on the console beside the door. She felt it slide open at her back, and though she knew this was where she was expected to move, she didn't. She was obstructing his way and it terrified her in a magnificent way.

"I want to hear it in_ your_ words," she insisted. "Who you _really _were." She could not help her eyes as they glanced to the Starfleet insignia that gleamed so offensively on his chest, where it didn't belong.

He only seemed to weigh her words long enough to offer back her PADD. "You may come inside."

It was permission, not courtesy. Hugging the PADD, she stepped to the side and out of his way. He passed her to enter the room first, the lights fading on inside. When she followed, the door hissed shut, closing her in with him. Alone.

But he showed no interest in his guest as he deposited his own PADD onto the desk, which had gained quite a collection of disks and papers since she had last seen it. His back was to her while she lingered at the door, not daring to step in further without his consent. She wasn't too shy, though, to follow his every move with her eyes.

Even his casual steps in the comfort of his own room had such precision to them, such perfection. He faced away from her, but she could see his reflection in a nearby mirror that clung to the wall. He was unfastening the front of his uniform, a look of utter disdain touching his mouth as he pulled it free from his throat. It was obvious that he knew as well as she did that he was not meant to wear a uniform.

"I don't know if you're going to like living in our time…."she commented softly, the pity unintentionally seeping into her words.

He looked over his shoulder at her, the sharpness of his cheekbone even more apparent against the metallic wall behind him. The severity she often saw in his eyes had softened just for a moment. She was sure he was about to speak, but he faced his profile to her and proceeded to peel the stiff coat from his shoulders. He was still wearing the snug black undershirt, but she could see his sinewy muscles as they moved beneath the fabric.

"Ask your questions." He was direct.

"To be honest," she was nervous now. "I didn't have any questions prepared…."

He quirked a brow at her, and after a beat, silently gestured to an empty chair, which sat near the desk. As if on command, she quickly scurried into the seat and laid the PADD in her lap. He tossed his uniform's coat over the chair behind the desk, but he didn't sit.

"Then you want to hear how I unified nations," he began slowly, his voice low, "how I led campaigns to seize power. How we brought order to a world consumed in chaos and ruled for three peaceful and prosperous years?" His cool voice gradually gained a strained fervor, his features hardening. "Only to be driven out by the very people who had begged me to lead them and purge them of the things that had been poisoning mankind?"

The muscle in his jaw jumped with a boiling rage, but his eyes told of deep betrayal. She had studied the history of those times over and over. It happed almost 300 years ago, but it wasn't until now she remembered that it was hardly a month for him.

"No…" she said quietly. "Those are all the things I already know. I want to know… your favorite book. What you did before the wars, what inspires you, things you're proud of, things you regret…"

She was going beneath the surface where she had no right to pry. But the truth was, she was desperately curious. This was an opportunity that no one ever could have dreamt of. She didn't know what to expect from him, whether he would oblige, throw her out on her ass, beat her to a pulp—really, she didn't know. But she would have hated herself if she never asked.

He watched her, the usual harshness of his features nonexistent. She might have even thought it was a look of wonder on his face. Finally, he moved around the desk with his slow, defined steps, and perched himself on the corner of it, his dark frame hovering over her.

"I would much rather hear about you," his tone was suddenly lighter, kinder.

"Me?" she couldn't help but laugh at the idea. "I'm nobody."

"Oh, I'd beg to differ…" a smile touched the edge of his mouth. "I sense something quite extraordinary about you. Tell me about _your_ passions. There is surely another side to you than your affinity for relics like me."

"You're hardly a relic…" she dipped her gaze from him, blushing like a 12 year old. "I like to paint. I haven't had much of a chance to since I graduated from the Academy, but it's the only way I know how to express myself completely." She couldn't look at him now, it was too embarrassing. "I'm so sorry, it's not interesting at all. Not compared to… to the things you've done or seen."

"An artist," his voice seemed to purr like the lowest chord of a bass cello. "You underestimate your value. Creativity for its own sake was a rarity in the world of battles and blood that I was accustomed to. And from what I have seen of your Starfleet, it isn't so different here. The farther into the coldness of space, the greater the need for art. I would like to see a sample of your work and through it perhaps I could see the woman beneath the uniform."

Something strange was happening in her chest. It felt as though her heart was about to break out of her ribcage and fly away like some dingy springtime bird. Oh, she felt stupid. With a burst of courage, she finally lifted her eyes to him. He was closer than she expected, leaning over her from his seat atop the desk. In spite of such a lean body, he seemed so firm. Fear suddenly pulled within her.

"I should go," the words came out rapidly and without her approval.

"Will you come again?" he still hovered close.

"…Do you want me to?"

"I look forward to nothing else. No matter the hour, you're welcome here."

"How will I know when you're here?"

"Wait for me if I'm not."

He expected everyone to wait on him, she knew this. And yet, she was more than happy to oblige. This was an invitation she could not refuse.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter-05:

The occasional company of Lieutenant Marla McGivers in his quarters was a small distraction from the torturous labor he was forced to endure. It wasn't exhaustive work, at least not physically. It would take the equivalent of experiencing three train crashes or more to make him break a sweat. No, it was trying to his otherwise indomitable spirit. His pride was gradually being worn down at its sharp edges by the grip that Admiral Marcus had on him. Had he been without ties, Khan would cheerfully antagonize and rebel against him and enjoy his victory of Marcus's blood dripping from his hands. But he could not lash out for fear of what would happen to his crew.

Admiral Marcus had left Starbase 12 within a week after Khan's revival and returned to San Francisco. His trusted officer, Commander Lassiter, was left to oversee the program that Khan was now implemented it; to make certain that Khan was indeed capable of improving the weapons currently in use by Starfleet.

Meanwhile, Marcus refused to allow Khan to see the cryo-tubes with his own eyes. They expected him to take their word that his crew was being stored somewhere on Starbase 12 and that they were safe. With every passing day that he did not see his crew, he was increasingly less pacified and was increasingly resolved to find and free them. On Earth, they had looked to him for leadership. Though they were all augments, Khan exceeded them all. Therefore, it was his duty to save them from this Federation of mediocrity and hypocrisy.

But even with his superior genes and experience, he simply could not be in two places at once. He needed an accomplice if he was ever to gain freedom. A plan was simmering in his mind, pieced together by intellect but strengthened by his unparalleled zeal.

Nearly four weeks passed where he would intermittently find Marla coming to his room or, on at least one occasion, waiting for him inside. It would have been a lie to say he dreaded the sight of her. In fact, he was surprised to feel that twinge of disappointment when she was not there. As demure she often seemed, she had a suppressed quality of strength about her that he felt the desire to draw out. He wanted to see what would happen when she was provoked into action or backed into a corner.

In the late hours of the standardized day, Khan returned to his room. It was a long and productive day, but his mind was on fire with what needed to be done. When the door wheezed open to his quarters the lights were already on. He hoped it was Marla, but he was ever alert and presumed nothing. When he turned the corner, there she was slouched gracefully in a chair, her head lulled to the side and her breathing shallow with sleep. By the seemingly awkward position it was evident that she had no intention of falling asleep there. He had kept her waiting too long and something reminiscent of guilt panged him.

Whether awake or asleep, Marla was beautiful. He was well aware of it from the moment he first saw her. Her hair was a startling shade of red against the neutral colors of the uniform that clung to her curves. There were many reasons why he yearned to get her out of that uniform…

She didn't stir when he entered, sleep having too strong a hold on her. Carefully, he slipped one arm beneath her bare knees, the other coiling at her back to cradle her against him. She might as well have been a pillow, she was so easy to move. Carrying her to her own quarters—which were on the other end of the Starbase—would have been idiotic. Not only would it advertise his association with her, but it would demonstrate compassion in him that he was not prepared to show. He was residing in enemy territory, they did not need to see that he had weaknesses. And waking her? Her vulnerability just now made him all the more intent to keep her.

Her relaxed body was laid carefully on his practically untouched bed, the red tresses of her hair spilling over the pillow with such likeness to fire that it made his breath catch. He flattered himself with his superior willpower, but it was with some effort that he walked away from the beauty that now slumbered in his bed.

Dimming the lights around her, he moved silently to his desk. There was something on top of it that made him pause and stare. It was a small stack of books. The last time she visited him, they had fallen into the topic of literature, discussing the great classics that hadn't lost their profoundness throughout the centuries. _Moby Dick, Paradise Lost, The Inferno, King Lear; _four books that had once occupied his own personal library in his days as a prince. Four books that contained the best and worst of the human soul and never failed to speak to his.

It moved a stinging nostalgia within him to see fragments of the past that were as out of place as he was with their tree-born pages in a computerized world of glass and metal. The first book was taken in hand, gingerly as if it was ready to crumble into dust, the engraved title of _Paradise Lost_ feeling as deep as a canyon beneath his fingertips. It was familiar and he couldn't have known how much he ached for it until he felt the brush of the leaves and the smell of the pages between its covers. She had brought him a piece of the home he was driven from and would never see again.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter-06:

A soft sound drifted into her dreams, a flutter gradually pulling her towards wakefulness. She was able to identify the sound as paper before she even opened her eyes. She awoke facing the wall, the same wall that could be found in any room on the starbase, and so for a moment she completely forgot where she was. That is until she heard the brush of paper again and remembered where she last was before falling so suddenly asleep.

Jolting upright, her fears were confirmed. She was in Khan's quarters. Which meant she was in his bed. It was still made perfectly as she laid, boots and all, atop the blankets. With about as much grace as her sleepy body allowed, she slipped off the bed and immediately began to touch her hair, making sure it wasn't flying up like an electrified tribble. She heard the paper again. With a quick look in the mirror, she walked quietly around the corner until his desk came within her sights.

He was sitting behind it, the computer and PADD in front of him, but his eyes lowered into the open pages of an old book. There was such placidity on his face, a calm she had never seen in him. She couldn't contain the smile knowing that she was at least partly responsible for it.

"You should have woken me…" she said quietly.

"I would have awoken you…" He spoke before lifting his eyes from the text of the book. "… when, and only when, I saw fit to."

"I'm sorry…" she laughed with embarrassment. "I didn't realize how tired I was. I've been reading through the data collected on your ship, and Admiral Marcus expects me to report on it by tomorrow. Did you intentionally leave the databanks so blank on your ship's computer?" As she spoke, she moved to the desk, seating herself in the chair that sat opposite of his. This was where she often sat during their visits.

"The best protection is anonymity," he replied simply. "Which I maintained exceptionally well until you denounced me."

"You could have denied it," a challenge came out instead of an apology.

"It would have bought me a sliver of time only." The book was still held steadily in his hand, but his eyes were fixed on her. "If I had to be discovered, I'm glad it was by you."

There was that flutter in her chest again. "But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me?"

He blinked once, his chin lifting ever so slightly as he surveyed her. "Because of this," he held up the book. "Your duty requires you to analyze me and transcribe my essence into a computer. You're bound by your profession to get what you can from me." The book was closed carefully and set onto the table. With elegant movement, he was on his feet and moving around the desk. "Instead, you've _given_ everything to me, even your prized antique books, that I might have some scrap of the world that no longer exists. Most valuable of all, you've given me your company."

His voice had dropped low, his steps taking him nearer and nearer to her until he shadowed her from the light. One curl of his finger beckoned her onto her feet, and without a thought of her own, she did so. He was standing so near to her she could feel the energy that radiated from him. It made goosebumps raise across her flesh.

"Because I know…" his voice was all vibration now. "…whatever I wish of you, you will not say no."

The same finger that had commanded her to stand now touched at her chin, tilting her head back to force her gaze onto his. She felt so small and her voice suddenly failed her. To have his attention, no matter how dominating he was, made her hungry for more. Without further warning, shockingly soft lips were pressed to her own. She was hardly aware of the moan that wisped out of her, her body melting into the strong angles of his own. Her arms moved on their own to cling onto him, her fingers splaying over the curves of his sharp shoulder blades. Already her head was spinning, her heart pounding, all sense of time fading away...

_Beeeep beeeep._

The kiss was broken, and through her unfocused gaze, she saw him looking towards the desk. That was the sound of an incoming transmission. Through her palms she could feel the muscles of his back harden. It was with surprising self-control that she peeled herself away, her hand coming to her still-tingling lips as she spoke through fingertips.

"You should answer that."

He sent one last glance to her, one that she thought showed reluctance, and he returned behind his desk. Sitting, he did not hesitate to answer the incoming call. She couldn't see the computer's screen from where she stood, but she saw the severity of Khan's face when the screen flickered on.

"Admiral," he greeted coldly.

"_Commander Harrison_," she heard the harsh vocals of Admiral Marcus. "_I'd like a status report on those designs of yours. Lassiter has told me that you're making a lot of progress on a phaser array._"

"It's finished." Khan dropped his gaze to the console, his fingers masterfully dancing over the buttons like a man who was raised with the technology. "I'm transmitting the schematics to you now. You'll find that these phaser arrays consume less energy from the ship, allowing for the shields to retain a percentage of their integrity when fired. They charge as quickly as your current standard arrays and cause the same level of damage, but with the decreased energy usage more phasers can be equipped on a single ship without risk of an overload."

The computer whirred and buzzed compliantly as the transmission successfully sent and was received in San Francisco by the admiral. Khan watched the screen, his attention never even flickering her way to indicate that he knew she was still there. But she wouldn't make a sound, her breath trapped in her lungs as she waited to hear the admiral speak.

"_I'll be damned…_" his voice was barely audible in its mumble. "_We've been trying to solve the energy issue of the phasers since the formation of Starfleet. And you fix it in three weeks. I knew you'd fit right in here._"

Khan's mouth tightened, the slightest twitch of his nostrils telling of a contained fury. Those green eyes of his had taken on a frightening silver sheen. It made the hair on her neck stand on end, and she wasn't sure why.

"_I'll level with you, Harrison. This is damn impressive. In fact, I've never seen anything like it and I'd like to take this a step further. There's a top secret project that's been underway for some time of a prototype starship. Dreadnought Class. Its faculties are being specialized for combat only—no exploration or science or transport like every other god forsaken starship in the fleet. This one is a battleship, made for war. Your weapons are just the enhancements she needs. I want you to be a lead designer of this ship. There's a list of things we'd like her to be able to do, but no one's been able to find a way to do it._"

"Such as?"

"_It's a bigger ship, but we want it to have a smaller crew. Nothing larger than your average bridge crew, if possible. An advanced warp drive is also in the making and could use a bit of polishing to work out the kinks. I'll have Commander Lassiter bring you to the space dock where she's being built. Then we'll decide where to go from there._"

Khan glared into the screen silently.

"_Problem?_" Marcus asked sharply.

"Clearly you've forgotten the circumstances of my service, Admiral," a hiss crept into Khan's voice that she didn't like. "I've given no oaths to the Federation, nor am I being charitable in my skills for Starfleet. You have my crew and no amount of ambiguous language or righteous cause will alter the fact that you are a coercer. You have my cooperation only as long as I know my people are safe and within my reach. I will not leave this starbase without them."

"_You think they're within your reach right now? They might as well be on the other side of the galaxy. If you think you can get them off the starbase without anyone noticing, I would love to see you try._"

"Then I will have to make my designs from here," Khan said simply.

"_That's not going to happen,_" Marcus's tone was becoming more and more abrupt. "_There's no such thing as classified subspace frequencies. There's always someone listening and it's too risky. You're going to be transferred to the space dock where you'll supervise the developments of the starship. You'll just have to be content with my word that your crew is and will be safe while you're gone. When you come back, assuming you do as you're told without any trouble, maybe you'll see them for yourself. All seventy-_god damn_- two of them. You know what I could do if you keep fighting me on this. All it takes is a slight malfunction and cryogenic freeze becomes fatal. This isn't a request. Be ready to leave the starbase with Commander Lassiter in ten hours._"

The computer buzzed as the transmission cut off from Marcus's end.

She stared at the back of the computer. "He's holding them ransom." She couldn't even believe her own words.

"Did you think his title made him infallible?" Khan uttered dryly, a long finger hitting a button to turn off the computer's glaring screen.

"He's always been a hero to us at the Academy… What are all these classified projects of his? Why so much secrecy?"

"Because he knows his vision of Starfleet will not be so easily accepted. I'm sure you have never heard of the organization known as Section 31. It's the secrecy of it that allows him to remain on the peripheral of Starfleet regulations. He's made it abundantly clear to me how much he loathes the pacifist attitude that poisons the Federation as a whole. In his eyes, your Federation is growing weak while the enemy—the Klingons—are preparing for war with nothing but a meager neutral zone to stop them. He believes in his cause. There is no man more dangerous than one who has noble intentions, and such perceived justice is enough to vindicate a few _small_ sacrifices."

Section 31 meant nothing to her. It was just words, as far as she was concerned. Khan spoke with such articulate understanding of Marcus's motives, but his tone was sharp with contempt. It killed her to see such a man of pride and power in chains, and all because he cherished his crew.

"I'm so sorry…" her voice cracked with the paltry comfort, but her heart was breaking for him.

The sharp angles of his face seemed to soften as the vehemence faded, a hint of a smile appearing. "There is no need to be sorry," he replied quietly. "Marcus believes there is a savagery in me that no longer exists in mankind. He believes it will empower his military endeavors, but he is not counting on the savage's talent for survival. There is no intelligence like a feral fight to live." He was returning to her side now. "I am going to escape with every one of my people. But I cannot do it alone."

He gently took her hand and drew it upward, her knuckles brushing the fabric of his shirt. Though he didn't use the words, she knew what he was asking. It sent a wave of panic through her. Being a traitor to Admiral Marcus was to be a traitor to all of Starfleet, which was full of good men and women.

"I don't know…"

"You're afraid?" his voice hardened.

"It's treachery—" she had barely gotten the last syllable out when it turned into a small cry of pain. His grip was tightening around her hand, slowly, but enough for a small pop to sound in her knuckles.

He didn't even blink. "_Such loyalty_ for a man you know to be so corrupt."

"Khan—" she pleaded, her other hand clasping over his in a vain attempt to loosen the vice grip he held on her. It was enough to hurt only, and she was terrifyingly aware that it would take little more than a flex of his hand to crush all the bones in hers. "Please…"

"It seems I mistook you for a woman of strength. Now I see you're defined by your uniform." His hand opened, allowing her hand to retract. He turned away from her.

She cradled her hand, her eyes burning with tears.

"You're still here?" he paused and regarded her askance. "Oh, how rude of me…" The sarcasm in his voice hit her like a thousand knives. Reaching forward, he picked up the four books from the desk dropped the bulk of them into her aching hands. "Go."

He didn't seem to find her worth regarding anymore as he turned to his papers. As much as she might have begged to stay, the iciness of his demeanor coupled with such ferocity frightened her. But nothing scared her more than the possibility of him seeing her cry. Hugging the books, she walked calmly from the room in spite the shaking in her legs, glad that he could only see her back and not the tears as they began to trickle down her face.

It was a dazed trek through the corridors of the starbase. She was only vaguely aware of the greetings from familiar faces as she walked by, her only focus to get to her own quarters. As soon as she was isolated behind the door in her own room, the automatic lights fading on, she was met with the reflection of herself in the full body mirror that was mounted on the wall. All she could see was the uniform and the badge that shined on her left breast. It wasn't who she was. It was a false sense of purpose, and for the first time in her career, it turned her stomach to look at it.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter-07:

_Alone_.

It was a new state of being that he had to come to terms with. Most of his life he had followers, people who were willing to bow to his superiority, to lay down their lives because they trusted him to spend it well. The few he had allowed into his heart—to be called family—were incapacitated. And now the one he was willing to trust proved too weak to follow him onto the battlefield.

He told himself he should have expected as much from Lt. McGivers. She was a member of Starfleet, and nothing but an ordinary human. He was no more to her than a romanticized ideal, which he failed to exploit to his own advantage.

But, if she was a mere pawn in his plans, then why did it hurt to send her away?

His ten hours were up and Commander Lassiter came to collect him. They walked side by side through the Starbase, each carrying little more than a duffle bag of essentials. The moment they found themselves alone on the turbo lift that carried them to the hangar deck, Lassiter cleared his throat.

"I haven't had the chance to say it, but… It's an honor to be working with you, Mr. Singh. Some of your tactics during the Eugenics Wars have been used in some of our combat manuals. Modified, of course, and not accredited to you specifically, but… I wrote a dissertation about it back when I was a cadet, and…"

The young commander was gushing like a fool, and Khan couldn't find it in him to be flattered. Instead, he stared ahead and fed the other man cold silence. He was not about to humor one of his keepers.

"Well, anyway…" Lassiter clearly felt like the fool that he was. "That dissertation is how Marcus picked me out of my class and recruited me. My point is, sir, that we could be on the same team. You and Admiral Marcus could be really powerful allies."

The mere suggestion brought Khan's grip to constrict on the strap of his duffle bag, the fibers creaking beneath the pressure. The only thing that spared Lassiter's face from a fist-sized cannonball was the opening of the lift door. Khan grinded his teeth to keep silent, to bite back his words of indignation and lead the way into the hangar as Lassiter shadowed him closely.

"_Commander Harrison!_" a voice called out over the noises of the hangar.

There was only a slight delay in his response to that damnable alias, and when he turned he saw a familiar red head jogging towards him. Her cheeks were flushed from the run, causing her to glow. Regardless of the hunger it stirred in him, he regarded her coolly.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"I wanted to give you this before you leave." She extended her hands to reveal the aged cover of _Paradise Lost_. "I'm sure you'll be busy, but… just in case if you have the spare time."

He glanced to the book once, then back to her without so much as lifting a finger.

"I marked the page for you," her voice was convincingly casual, but there was something desperate in her eyes that intrigued him. Moving nearer, she opened the book to him, revealing a small paper nestled into the wedge of its worn spine. There was a small, handwritten note on it.

_I'll do anything you ask._

The pledge was scrawled in ink, as if in defiance of the electronic world that surrounded them. He met her anxious gaze again, but this time he could feel the heat of her devotion thaw the ice he had shielded himself with. The fretfulness faded from her eyes when he looked to her, silent understanding that the message was received. She wasn't as insipid as he took her for. Perhaps he was right in his first impression of her as a strong woman. All she may have needed was his guidance to meet her full potential.

"Two minutes, Harrison," Lassiter's voice broke through. With a courteous nod to Marla, the commander walked ahead to the ship to wait.

In that moment when Lassiter's back was towards them, Khan stole his moment. He reached for her hand, and though she flinched for fear that he would crush it again, he took it gently. He pressed her soft knuckles to his lips in the only apology she was likely to receive.

"Thank you," he spoke against the pale flesh and caught her eye one last time before accepting the book and following Lassiter to the ship.

He had a renewed vigor in his cause now that he knew he wasn't alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter-08:

**[ - Lt. Marla McGivers, Personal Log—Stardate 2258. 63:**_If anyone had told me that you could be so sure of something and so confused, I would have argued the logic. It doesn't make sense. Well, maybe it just doesn't make sense when you try to break it down into words. I know what I want and why. What I don't know is what's right or what's wrong. I made a vow to Starfleet and all that it represents. But so did Admiral Marcus, and I no longer believe him to be the steadfast and virtuous leader he has always been depicted as. Is it right for me to go against the body just because the head is corrupt?_

_Now I've made another promise. To Khan._

_It's not because I love him—I do, I can't deny that. It's not because he scares me—which he does. And it's not for any noble pretense of wanting to battle the system that I'm beginning to feel has lied to me. It's because he's given me something I could never find in my life. Something that I hoped Starfleet could give me and never did. He makes me feel alive. He is the fixed point in my life that we all search for and if I don't follow him I know I'll be lost again. I'll take the danger rather than purposeless limbo.__**-]**_

Such was the turn her thoughts had taken during Khan's absence. He left with Lassiter for the mysterious spacedock four days ago, and she found it increasingly difficult to continue in her busywork. There was little more information she could extract from the _Botany Bay's_ databanks, if any at all, but she continually lied to Admiral Marcus that there was more. She reported fragments at a time to him in an attempt to prolong her stay at Starbase 12. She intended to wait until Khan came back, whenever that would be, and was afraid of being transferred back to the Academy once her usefulness had reached its end.

Part of her ruse to appear busy was hours spent in the hushed rooms of the starbase archives, scanning files and records under the pretense of research. All it gave her instead was more time to think as she stared at the information on the screen, the images meaning nothing to her as she could think only of the former warlord and her secret allegiance to him. What she wanted most of all was to feel the sure warmth of his touch again.

A tap on her shoulder made her whole body jolt.

"I'm so sorry!" a voice whispered to her.

It was a blonde woman, close in age to Marla, who leaned in privately. Marla pressed a hand to her now pounding heart, and gave a breathy laugh.

"It's fine," she whispered back, not wanting to draw any more attention than she already had in the quiet space of the archives.

"Are you Lieutenant Marla McGivers?"

"Yes…"

"I'm Dr. Carol Marcus," she smiled brightly, offering a hand. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I really wanted to have a chance to chat with you some time."

Something told Marla this wasn't random socializing. Least of all with a young woman named Marcus who has a doctorate. If Marla had to guess, it was in applied physics—or advanced weaponry. Suspicions were raised and her curiosity piqued.

"I'm free now if you'd like to talk," she shut off the neglected computer.

"Coffee?" Carol suggested cheerfully.

"Sounds wonderful."

Marla gathered her PADD and the two women walked out of the silenced air of the archive and into the bustling corridor. Marla watched the blonde in the corner of her eye.

"You're probably wondering what I would want to chat about," Carol spoke at a normal volume now that they were free of the quieted setting of the archives. "It has to do with a man named Commander John Harrison. Don't worry, I'm not here on any official business or anything," she quickly added. "In fact, I probably shouldn't even be here…"

The look of confusion and alarm must have been obvious on Marla's face, because Carol answered the unspoken questions.

"I've been informed that Commander Harrison has been transferred and I understand you're associated with him. That is… You were. At one point." The blonde's brow furrowed a bit with uncertainty and she slowed, bringing them both to a halt. With a glance to the passersby, she leaned in with confidentiality. "Admiral Marcus is my father."

Marla was surprised by the admission.

"A few months ago he took a personal interest in something that was discovered in the Gamma 400 System. Some sort of derelict ship or something. I saw your name attached to the inquiries being made on it. There were no updates on the information and it seemed to be abandoned for brand new projects of weapon advancements led by a man named John Harrison. There was mention of you in only one of the files saying that you were to interview him. It was all so vague."

"Does your father know you're looking at these files?" Marla felt compelled to ask.

Carol's lips pursed with obvious guilt and she confirmed it by shaking her head. "He allowed me access into some of the records, and sometimes I can't help the ones I come across. You see, I specialize in advanced weaponry and I couldn't help noticing the developments of new phaser arrays, and now the proposal of new torpedoes…" A small smile appeared on her face and she prompted Marla to walk again. "It's absolutely fascinating the types of advancements being made by Mr. Harrison. His is the only name on the records. I've never seen anything like it."

The mess hall wasn't far from the archives and they made directly for one of the replicators. Marla was the first to manufacture a cup of hot java, the steaming container held delicately as she stepped aside to allow Carol to do the same.

"But why come to me?" Marla asked. "Couldn't you just ask your father for a meeting with Commander Harrison?" Even as she suggested it, she loathed the idea.

Carol gave a nervous chuckle and punched in the code for her own particular drink. "I already tried. My father made it quite clear I'm not to take an interest in this program or the people in it."

Marla laughed in disbelief. "Aren't you afraid of what he'll do?"

"My father's bark is worse than his bite." She took her cup and smiled. "He'll yell at me and relocate me at the worst."

Marla took the lead this time and selected an empty table where they could sit more comfortably with their drinks, their PADDs set aside as they favored their drinks.

"I only just arrived here yesterday," Carol explained. "Apparently I've missed Harrison by three days. It doesn't seem as though he'll be returning any time soon, and I don't know how long I have before my father finds out I'm here. So, I thought you could enlighten me."

"I don't know how, I've hardly had any official interviews with Harrison." Marla offered a half lie.

"You had to have spent enough time with him to tell me if he's as clever as his designs imply. I can't find any information on his personal file. Is he cybernetically augmented or part Vulcan or something?"

"Would you believe me if I told you he's human?"

"Really?" Carol was right to be skeptical. And Marla wasn't about to share his secrets. "So he really is that talented?"

Marla couldn't help the smile that splayed on her face and she nodded. "He's every bit as intelligent and talented as you might think. Maybe even more so. He has a magnetism about him that's almost electric… No, it_ is_ electric. You can feel it. And he knows so much more than just weapons and starships. He knows literature, poetry, history…" It was on the tip of her tongue to add that he _was_ history, but she caught herself in the middle of her spouting and distracted herself by sipping at her hot coffee.

But Carol was grinning at her brightly, and knowingly. "You love him."

She didn't even know this woman and had every right to deny it and tell the self-entitled admiral's daughter to mind her own business. But Carol wasn't threatening.

"I do…" the words trembled as they escaped her, a painful clenching in her chest at the confession.

"Oh…" Carol's grin quickly vanished. "He doesn't feel the same?"

"I can't be sure… It's more complicated than that…" she didn't know why she was opening up to this stranger. But it was cathartic—she needed to tell someone. "I love who he makes me become when I'm around him. He's not like other men and… he frightens me."

"I once dated a man who was afraid of me," Carol said with a small smile. "He never gave me the chance to prove to him that I'm actually quite harmless."

Marla was thankful for the subject change. "Why was he scared of you?"

"I was studying applied physics, he was in combat training. He said he didn't like the science," she laughed. "Which is unfortunate, because I do love a man with muscle and the guts to use them."

Marla laughed too. It felt good to laugh.

Marcus had more use for Khan than just designing his secret starship. Once at the covert spacedock, which was hidden surprisingly well behind one of Jupiter's moons, Khan was made privy to ongoing spy missions on the Klingon Empire. They needed people to intercept information, to gather intelligence on the current Klingon weaponry in use. Marcus wanted to use someone accustomed to the battlefield and war strategies.

More than once, he sent Khan to the edge of the neutral zone with other agents of Section 31. They never crossed the neutral zone, lest they sparked a war, but on one occasion, Khan was ordered to lead a small group of agents onto a Klingon outpost in the guise of pirates, so that Starfleet would not be implicated. Every Klingon stationed on that planetoid was killed without a fight, and from Khan was learning of their race, such a death was the ultimate dishonor. But he was indifferent to their plights. He was indifferent to them all: Marcus and the Klingons alike.

His crew was always at the forefront of his mind, but there were moments—surprising, overwhelming moments—that every thought turned to Marla. No matter if he was covered in Klingon blood, or engrossed for days on end in the schematics of the starship's weapons or bridge control systems, her face would permeate his concentration.

He burned to go back to her.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter-09:

She didn't really know what she was doing. It wasn't as though anyone asked her to, but in the weeks that rolled by in Khan's absence, she made it her mission to find where his crew was being kept. For a while, she was beginning to doubt that they were on the starbase at all. That is, until she came across a suspicious gap in the inventory log of the cargo bays. Upon further searching, she found them to be in a secure storage room adjacent to one of the cargo hangars, locked by an authorization code. When she pretended to have made a wrong turn, she saw with her own eyes that the place was not even guarded by security officers. Marcus must have had a lot of faith in his secrecy as well as his hold over Khan if he thought such lax precautions were safe.

In the meantime, she found an unexpected friend in Carol Marcus. There was nothing about the woman that was even remotely reminiscent of her father, which made it easy to forget who she was related to. Between her hours wasted in pretend research, and the hours spent in watching the sleeping crew of the _Botany Bay_, Marla had delved into painting again. It distracted her from wondering what he was doing every hour that he was kept away from her.

She was in her room working on an imagined portrait of Julius Caesar, an apron over her uniform to protect it from the paint. Stretched comfortably on the bed was Carol, who took particular interest in looking through Marla's sketchbook.

"Do you ever regret—or at least reconsider—your career choice?" the blonde asked pensively.

"I have…" Marla murmured distractedly as she leaned in close to the canvas to dab in the detail of laurel leaves on Caesar's breast plate. "Have you?"

"Sometimes. I've always wanted to do something… I don't know, creative rather than destructive. It would be wonderful to create life instead of all this killing. Weapon technology is fascinating, but I feel like there is far too much importance put on it… Everyone is far too eager to just blow things up. What's worse is they put just about anyone in command positions anymore. No one needs to work their way up through the ranks anymore. You can be captain without even graduating past cadet."

Marla paused her paintbrush. "Are you talking about James Kirk?"

"Who isn't these days?" Carol snickered. "Six months ago he was being reprimanded by the board for cheating on the Kobayashi Maru, and now he's the captain of the best ship in the fleet surveying planets on the edge of the system. He's got brains, but obviously no character whatsoever…"

Marla laughed. She only knew Kirk by name and his less-than-stellar reputation as an officer. Which was quite contrary to his reputation as a playboy. There was many a girl at the Academy who sighed and cursed because of him. "He can't be all that bad," she added as she blended the pigments on her canvas. "For a cadet, he did manage to beat that Romulan Nero."

"That's true," Carol quietly agreed, and Marla was sure she saw a smile touch on the blonde's face.

The annunciator beeped at her door. Quickly, she wiped the bronze-colored acrylic from her fingers and pushed the intercom button on her desk.

"Come in!"

The door wheezed open and Carol was suddenly scrambling out of her comfortable recline and onto her feet. Standing at her door was Khan, in full uniform and with a duffle bag over his shoulder. His sharp eyes were on Carol with cool curiosity.

Marla couldn't help the smile that burst onto her face and she practically gasped out at the unexpected sight of him, her hands clutching around her brushes as she fought the desire to run into his arms like a needy fool.

"You're back!"

His eyes seemed to have taken on a shade of blue in the light of her room. She never ceased to marvel at how they always seemed to change in hue. A smile appeared on his face as he moved further into the room.

"Yes. My first thought was to return this to you." A hand revealed _Paradise Lost._ "It must have been difficult for you to part with…"

His attention gradually drifted back to Carol, his smile waning.

"Oh, Carol…" Marla tried to contain her smile. "This is Commander John Harrison. John," the name left a strange taste in her mouth, "this is Dr. Carol Marcus."

There was a sharp alteration in his expression, his eyes widening ever so slightly. It reminded her of a cat spotting a mouse. "_Marcus."_

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Commander," Carol smiled, but it wasn't convincing as she visibly withered under his silent gaze. "I've been following your work. Speaking of which… I have a few reports to catch up on… I'll meet up with you later, Marla."

Carol tiptoed for the door almost as if she was afraid of being seen in her escape.

"Goodbye," Marla was hardly aware of her friend's abrupt exit—she simply couldn't take her eyes off of him. She did not need to look to know that they were alone now. "I'm happy you're finally back."

She hadn't taken the book from him, so he set it aside on one of her sketch-riddled tables. He picked up one of the drawings of Napoleon and admired it. "You've taken up art again. Impressive technique…"

"I've had some spare time," she said with a hint of embarrassment to her idleness. "I… I also found your crew."

His eyes flashed to her, a look of genuine surprise. Slowly, he set the paper down. "My crew?"

"All seventy-two of them. It took a bit of digging, but… I found them on the cargo deck, storage room 137D."

"You did not wait for instruction from me?" His tone was so flat that she was afraid she had done something wrong.

"After everything I heard Admiral Marcus say, I wanted to help," she said confidently, even though she felt smaller. "I want to help you."

"Because I am so vulnerable and disadvantaged in this century?" Those harsh eyes narrowed.

"I didn't mean that," she replied quickly.

"You went out of your way to find them, risked discovery for the sake of seventy-two strangers who may as well be counted dead. Why?" His head canted slightly. "Is it because of your moral principles prevailing over the authority of your supreme commanding officer? Or was it for me?"

Her heart leapt into her throat. She wanted to answer _Yes, it's always been you_. But different words came out, meek words. "I don't know."

No matter what she said, though, he didn't seem fooled. He let the duffle bag slip slowly from his shoulder to be set soundlessly on the floor. The severity of his posture never faltered, but as he stepped slowly nearer to her, his eyes seemed to take on a softer scrutiny than their usual harsh calculation.

"Oh, but I think you do know," his voice rumbled through the air, the vibrations of it hitting her all over her body. "Would it have altered your choice if my plans were of another nature?"

"What do you mean?"

Smugness pulled at the edge of his mouth. "Perhaps there is a simpler method in gaining freedom than trafficking my people out. Carol Marcus, for example…"

She caught his meaning immediately and it alarmed her. "You mean ransom?"

"It's only reasonable to reciprocate Marcus's own methods. A living daughter is bound to be more valuable to him than seventy-two frozen men and women of antiquity. Though his delay may cost her an extremity or two…."

The ease in which he spoke of such atrocities was quickly reminding her of what the textbooks described. Ruthless, tactical, and quite possibly vengeful to a destructive degree. It made her blood run cold, and after months of yearning for him, she wanted to shrink away. But instead, her hand (the same one he had nearly crushed into a thousand pieces) pressed to his solid chest.

"Khan, no…"

The word _no_ made his eyes flash, a look of incredulity appearing on his features. "You would tell _me_ what I cannot do?"

"I know I can't," she was surprised at her own audacity. "But I can _ask_ you…. Please leave her alone. There is a way to free your people without any more lives being lost or endangered. I've spent enough time with Carol, I know she has nothing to do with what her father is doing. She thinks he's just creating better weapons for the fleet."

"Forgive me," there was the searing sarcasm in his tone as he loomed in close. "I was under the _foolish_ impression that you had picked your side. Now I see you are still flitting between your loyalties."

"I chose you," the words came out more sternly than she expected. "If I didn't want to follow you—to be with you—I wouldn't have stayed."

There was a new flicker of light in his eyes as she raised her voice to him, her tone increasingly scolding and determined. She could tell by the hint of intrigue on his face that he wasn't used to people speaking up to him in such a way.

"I did wonder if you would still be here when I returned," he seemed to muse aloud, "if you were bold enough to stay."

"I'm not afraid of you," she said with surprisingly clarity. It was the first time she meant it.

"Perhaps you should be," he murmured. "I am a man who is accustomed to getting what he wants. I'll free myself and my crew from Marcus, then commandeer a ship and leave here…"

A strong hand gently came to her neck, palm and fingers cradling her jaw as she instinctively leaned her head into it. He was so close to her now, their breaths collided between them and she could see the bewildering assortment of colors in his eyes.

"And so long as you give yourself willingly," his lips brushed hers with every word, "I will have you too…"

Her legs nearly give out from under her. Even if she wanted to, she was not given the chance to argue when he pressed his mouth to hers. Her eyes fell closed and the taste of him was more intoxicating than she remembered, than she had continuously dreamt of. She didn't realize how heavily she was leaning into him until his arm effortlessly held her by her waist, pulling her against him to feel every perfect dimension of his lean body.

Already her heart was pounding at an alarming rate, her blood quickened so suddenly that she felt dizzy. She was barely conscious of her legs moving beneath her. He was herding her backward, his tall form easily overcoming hers and manipulating it towards the bed. She resigned all control to him and he accepted it—not graciously, but with entitlement.

* * *

Something changed so suddenly and so unexpectedly that she could not help but stare in wonder. The man who now lay quietly beside her did not seem to be the same one that entered her room only a couple of hours ago. He was calm, at peace, and completely unintimidating. All of the fearful respect that he had enforced into her from their first meeting was unraveled piece by piece.

It began with the way that he kissed her, so softly as to almost be timid—asking permission rather than taking—which he claimed he could and easily could have. When he could have lifted her without any effort to carry her to the bed, he instead guided her towards it. And when all clothes were discarded (the uniforms that would remind them both of the cage of a starbase that they were in) so, too, did pretenses drop.

That intrinsic need within him to have power no longer seemed to exist when she moaned his name—his _true _name that had been taken from him. The one syllable made him shudder at her voice the same way that she always trembled at his. And to make him quiver, to feel the unintentional reaction in his otherwise perfect body suddenly shifted the paradigm in her favor. Khan wasn't just a warlord out of time, he was a man. And for all of his intellectual and physical prowess, he revealed himself to be as susceptible to the passions as any other human. Perhaps even more so. The emotions that seemed to fester and coalesce beneath his often harsh exterior were atoms waiting to collide.

This was a man who was terrified of being alone. He may never admit to it, or even realize it himself, but she knew it by the way he pulled her close to him in such a petty need for ownership. Marla was no better. They were both needy in their loneliness, which she was able to forget in the final moments as they clung to each other at the peak of ecstasy.

And now he slept. The man who slept for 300 years and was immune to sedatives was tranquil, naked, and in total submission as she lay on top of him, feeling his chest as it slowly rose and fell. No matter what he did to her now, she could not imagine ever being afraid of him again.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter-10:

It was well underway. He had been back at Starbase 12 for nearly two months, a regretfully small percentage of that time spent with the woman who increasingly took over his every thought and desire. To have her—to be had by her—was just enough to quell the rage inside of him for a little while. He often entertained the thought that the only reason why Lassiter was still alive was because of Marla. However, even she was blissfully unaware of just how close he was to breaking the young Commander in two every time he hovered over where Khan was working. She managed to inspire mercy in him, or lenience at the very least. But there were larger things at play than his affair with her, which was potentially doomed to end upon his escape if she wasn't strong enough to follow.

Though he tolerated it with bared teeth, the majority of these past two months was spent on finally realizing the designs he had made of new long-range photon torpedoes. Marcus was greatly impressed by these particular designs. With these, a starship could destroy a target from beyond sensor range, so as to be untraceable and allowing for stealth attacks. Khan personally preferred his victims to know full well who was about to decimate their lives or destroy it completely. That was the true way to gain power. Concealment only carried one so far, and Marcus was more secrecy than assertiveness. All it would take was for someone to shine a light on Marcus's shadows, and he would crumble from top to bottom. Those were politics that Khan could do without.

So, Khan played on Marcus's obsessive need to be covert by specially designing these torpedoes. The schematics that Khan had transmitted to the admiral were slight variations of the ones he was truly using in his building, however. What Marcus didn't see was the extra space within the shell of the weapon that was just large enough to contain a cryo-tube.

The time came to report the completion of the prototype torpedoes to Admiral Marcus. The last of his crew had been hidden in the weapons. Once reported, they were to be shipped to the secret space dock immediately, naturally escorted by his usual keeper, Commander Lassiter. It was a long enough journey to Jupiter where anything was bound to happen—such as his daring and imminent escape.

There was one thing he needed to do before taking another step. He was in the secure hangar, where his torpedoes were being stored. They were pristine looking weapons, finely crafted and ingeniously designed for superiority and fraud. They were both functional warheads and life support systems; a contradiction of giving or destroying life. No cargo was more precious than this.

He carried a PADD, making the official report to maintain his guise of cooperation. The report was mostly to pass the time, for the thing he was truly waiting for eventually came through the door at the far end of the hangar. Even through the noise and clamor of the forklifts and working personnel, he knew when she came in. When she spotted him amongst the clutter, a smile blossomed on her face that almost provoked one onto his own. Due to so many people at work around them, they kept a professional outward attitude towards one another, but that didn't stop him from drifting in close.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked nonchalantly, though he could see her breath catch as he trailed a knuckle across the soft edge of her hand.

"I'll be transmitting the report within the hour," he did not need to explain the implication. She knew. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes… but in a wonderful way." She was still smiling. She had developed such a lively glow about her since he had first seen her, one that he knew he had no small part in.

"Everything will unfold quickly the moment our ship undocks," he warned. "Alarms will be raised and death warrants issued. You could avoid prosecution if you tell them you were threatened. Or, you could come with me."

He paused to watch her reaction, to see if he could read any sudden panic. Her lips only parted slightly, her eyes fixing on his.

"Be at my side," he could not help the underlying plea of his words. "I refuse to manufacture any love from you, and so I leave you free to choose. If you come with me," his words came out more carefully, more concisely as he watched her every expression, "it is because it is what you _wish_ to do."

"I'm coming with you," she did not even hesitate to answer.

It made his heart soar and sink all at once. Either she truly did love him and would follow him to the ends of the universe, or she was a blind follower. It was maddening that he did not know for certain. "Don't answer now," he spoke more sharply now. "There's little value in words alone. I'll know once and for all where you stand when you come here at 18:00 tomorrow. If you're not here, even one minute past, I'll know. And I'll leave alone."

She still smiled beautifully. "I'll be here. No matter what, I'll come."

"18:00," he reminded, almost too emphatically for a man who never repeated a command twice.

Another officer had come nearby, and though she was busy with her own inspection of nearby crates, she was near enough to be a nuisance.

"You may go, lieutenant," he said curtly, turning his shoulder to Marla as he bowed his head over the PADD once more.

"Thank you, commander," she contained a smile as she turned on her heel and walked out the way she came.

He stole a moment to lift his eyes from his report to watch her, just before she vanished from his line of sight. If she decided against coming with him, this could very well be the last time he laid eyes on her intoxicatingly red hair. There was a great possibility that in the next 20 hours, she could change her mind.

It frightened him.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter-11:

Marla couldn't remember another time in her life that she watched the clock so obsessively. From the moment she left Khan in the hangar—where she was going to meet him later—she watched every minute as it ticked by. There was little for her to do at this point. Her sole task was to _just be there_.

Khan, meanwhile, was swept up in sending the report, loading the small transport ship with the torpedoes, and getting clearance to take the prized cargo from Starbase 12; a lot of paperwork and lies that had to be carefully conducted.

All she had to busy herself with was packing. She had a few civilian clothes—there would be no need for uniforms after this—and some small personal valuables, such as her books. It all fit in one small bag. She was more than ready. But the more she considered her approaching departure, and how final it really was, she had only one regret: she was leaving a friend behind. It was about three hours until she was to meet Khan. That was enough time to say goodbye to Carol.

_15:00._

Carol was engrossed in mutilating a faulty phaser rifle when Marla found her in one of the labs.

"Hey," she approached cheerfully.

"Hey!" Carol looked up from her tinkering, flashing that contagiously bright smile. "What brings you here?" She continued to detach the pieces of the firearm, its pieces laid out in an organized fashion on the metal table.

"I'm leaving soon," Marla's voice suddenly caught in her throat.

Carol paused immediately, her features drooping. "You've been transferred?"

"Yes," the lie came too easily. The less Carol knew the better. With any luck, her father would never know they were even associated. "I'm being relocated somewhere far on the edge of the system… maybe further."

"Don't you know?" Carol was beginning to look more quizzical now as she set her tools aside. "You'll at least keep in touch won't you?"

"I'll do my best." Another lie. As much as she wanted to, she knew all contact needed to end with Starfleet—and that included Carol. In fact, there was no guarantee communication would be possible anyway.

"How soon are you leaving?"

"In about three hours." It was more sudden than Carol anticipated, she could tell by the way the blonde's mouth fell open. "I wanted to say goodbye," Marla forced a smile and approached her, pulling the other woman into a tight hug. "I'll miss you."

Carol squeezed her with surprising strength in return.

The doors to the lab wheezed open, and a small group of boots marched in, their collective steps far too loud to be lab technicians. Marla pulled away from Carol just in time to see a phalanx of four security officers halting in their march only a couple of feet away from her. They were all armed.

"Lieutenant Marla McGivers, you're under arrest for conspiracy."

Carol laughed with disbelief. "You're mistaken—"

"Please come with us, lieutenant," the chief officer completely ignored Carol.

Marla's heart stopped. "C-conspiracy? Based on what?"

"We've been watching you for weeks now. Please, lieutenant."

Marla's legs, which finally regained some ambulatory function, took her backward, away from the wall of security officers. All she could think of was Khan. They were going to go after him, if they haven't already.

"Marla?" Carol was looking to her now, increasingly confused.

She wanted to grab one of the nearby weapons in the lab, any of them that were intact and hopefully functional. But with four armed officers blocking the exit, it would gain her nothing. They would either stun or kill her, she couldn't be sure one way or the other.

"I'm sorry, Carol." That was the best she could do in place of an explanation.

The chief security officer was out of patience. With one curt gesture of a command, the other three men stalked forward, herding her into a corner. She would have come quietly, but the sudden affront provoked panic in her—it provoked her to fight. She pushed forward with no other option than to try to wedge through them. Instead, it only made it easier for them to grab her arms and lift her feet clear from the floor.

"No!" she screamed.

Carol began to pull at one of the men. "Wait! You must be wrong!"

"The orders come directly from Admiral Marcus," the chief said succinctly.

That was enough to give Carol pause, but not to ease her bewilderment.

Marla continued in her useless struggle, her future crumbling before her eyes. "Let me go!" she cried. They dragged her fighting tooth and nail from the weapons lab.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter-12:

_17:30._

It was thirty minutes until departure when Khan arrived at the hangar. As expected, Commander Lassiter was there, ready to play the chaperone again. He stood patiently outside of the ship, whose engines had yet to be fired up, his eyes on a PADD.

"Commander," Lassiter greeted simply. "The ship's engines are being looked at one last time before we go."

An additional inspection was suspect. Khan made no reply and instead walked onto the ship. He needed to be sure that his torpedoes were still there. He would know if they had been replaced or moved. He made a single, careful round of looking over each individual torpedo. All of them were in proper place and order. Once satisfied, he stepped out of the ship once more to join Lassiter, but the young commander was nowhere in sight.

_18:00._

It was the perfect opportunity to leave while Lassiter was foolishly absent. It saved him the trouble of having to deal with the man en route. And yet, he paused, his eyes locking onto the entrance of the hangar. She said she would come. He counted on her to come.

_Leave her. _His own voice was commanding him fiercely, but his body wouldn't comply.

_18:05._

Five minutes and she still hadn't come— neither had Lassiter. Something was amiss, and the intellect in him finally triumphed and forced him to board the ship. The moment he stepped onto the ramp, however, he heard marching thunder into the hangar.

"Commander Harrison," Lassiter's voice echoed out sternly as they approached.

Khan didn't need to turn to know they had phasers aimed at him, but he faced them regardless. There were only ten of them, each security officer consisting of the most burly and well-constituted men on the starbase. He only offered the lot of them a sweeping glance before landing his gaze on Lassiter, who walked fearlessly at the front.

"You know why we're here to arrest you," Lassiter said calmly, stopping the march only a matter of feet from Khan's position at the entrance of the ship.

It was refreshing for the commander to be direct. Lassiter was smart enough to appreciate Khan's intelligence, but he seemed to have forgotten one key thing: Khan was also a warrior. They now offered him one choice. He was going to give them what they deserved, and that was no warning.

In one fluid movement, he seized Lassiter's collared throat in one hand and yanked him forward, to gain enough momentum to throw him back again, bowling the commander's body into the tight group of security men. Many were flattened under the weight of the other man, some knocked to the side, others still dazed and distracted just long enough to take their eyes off of their target.

Khan had only to reach forward and grab the end of a phaser; the weapon easily wrenched out of the officer's hand and turned around. With the flick of a button, the end switched from its benign stun-blue to kill-red. The men had no time to aim their weapons when Khan opened fire on them all. His arm moved accurately from one man to the next, blasting them with one phaser shot each. It was all over in a matter of seconds. When all but Lassiter were sprawled on the ground with still-searing holes in their sternums, Khan approached the young commander, who did not even have a chance to stand after being thrown like a child.

Lassiter was scrambling for his communicator, bringing it shakily to his lips. "Red alert! Security needed at Hangar 13—" the communicator dropped. "No, wait!" Lassiter's voice rose to a terrified pitch. He scooted backward over the dead bodies around him, a hand lifting in useless defense. "You don't have to do this!"

"I don't," he agreed fiercely. That desperate hand was grabbed by the wrist, and once again he was lifting the commander with ease from the ground, until they were eye to eye. "_But I will._" The tip of the phaser was pressed to the flesh of Lassiter's chin, and the trigger was squeezed.

To complement the red spray that now trickled down in the air was the red glow of the alert as it sounded throughout the starbase. Lassiter's corpse was dropped. Khan turned to make for the ship, but a small unit of security men came out of nowhere through the doors and open fired. Unlike his first would-be captors, these men were better equipped with phaser rifles that blasted into the ramp where Khan intended to go, efficiently blocking his way. He was strong, but not invincible.

Pivoting to the side, he dove for cover behind a wall of crates. Every attempt he made to reach his ship was thwarted, and the security men were working their way to surround him. The time it would take to fire up the engines of the transport ship—the one which contained his family as well as his freedom—was far too long to make fleeing possible. But there were other vessels present, smaller, more easily accessible ships. If he was to escape, it would have to be in one of those. This was a choice that made him hesitate, his heart breaking and his blood boiling.

That hesitation from Khan offered just enough time for a courageous security officer to dash behind the crates where Khan crouched. Khan sprang to his feet, a flash of light filling his eyes and something hot pounding into his side. It only knocked him back half a step—he was all adrenaline and purpose now. The man's weapon was snatched and thrashed across his face, collapsing half of his skull. Now armed with a more formidable weapon, Khan collected himself and made the choice to fight his way out alone.

Charging into the open space of the hangar, he was met with a shower of phaser-fire from all directions. From each trajectory, he fired one back in response. In the flurry of a running firefight, he kept his destination in sight, which was a runabout ship at the far end of the hangar. The shooters around him became less and less with each shot that he returned, but the red alert was still wailing and more were coming.

Long strides carried him on board the runabout, the door closing immediately and serving as a barricade while the security men came bustling towards his vessel in an attempt to keep it grounded. But, its engines were ignited in seconds. This small ship wasn't chosen by accident. This particular vessel had one thing that a mere shuttlecraft didn't: Weapons.

The moment that the engines were vibrating, his fingers danced over the controls to charge the ship's phasers. He targeted the sealed hangar doors that separated the artificial environment of the starbase from the vacuum of space and fired.

Chaos ensued as crates flew, bodies fluttered like confetti, and the air roared around his ship as it was pulled through the gaping hole in the wall. A few more shots, and the runabout was put on full impulse power, flying him out into the openness and liberty that was space, but leaving being the 72 people he loved.

No… the _73_.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter-13:

He was forced to make a landing on one of the planets nearest to Starbase 12 when his small ship was quickly running low on power. According to the ship's navigation console it was Risa, a planet of two suns and two moons. As a so-called "pleasure planet" he was sure to find a ship, preferably non-Starfleet, which he could seize and continue in his escape. He landed on a desolate beach, hoping to avoid detection for as long as possible. It would be no small task for them to track him from the starbase, so time was not a luxury that he had.

When he landed, it was a brightly lit night, the two moons casting dual shadows over the glowing white sand on the beach. Though he needed to move quickly to ditch this vessel and fall off the Federation grid, he paused only long enough to find the medical kit stored on the runabout. He had a deep gash on his right side, along his rib cage where the poor marksman of a security officer shot him at close range. It pained him with every small movement, but it was already healing and partially cauterized. The fibers of his uniform even melted to flesh in some places, and it was with a small wince that he peeled the clothing off to better tend to his wound.

While he treated his injury, his mind was working on the next step. He was trying to decipher what happened to Marla. They must have arrested her as well, he knew, and the allegations against her would be damning, if he knew Marcus as well as he thought he did. Still bleeding from his narrow escape and he was already formulating the early stages of a rescue mission to collect both his crew and Marla. To die trying was not an option.

_Beeeep beeeep. _

The communication console was flashing. It was a direct hail to his ship. The med kit was set aside, a fresh uniform shirt taken from a storage cabinet and pulled quickly on. He was not going to display his injuries. Sitting at the controls once more, he answered the hail.

Marcus appeared on the small viewscreen, the spotless wall of his office framing his detestable face. "You just made the biggest mistake of your life." Marcus was visibly infuriated, Khan could see it in his icy blue eyes. But the admiral was a master at keeping his tone level.

"What have you done with Marla McGivers?" Khan matched his even tone in an attempt to conceal the fear that crept into his heart.

"McGivers?" The admiral narrowed his eyes. "How do you think we found out about your little escape plan?"

"You're _lying_," Khan's voice rattled.

Marcus puffed ever so slightly behind his desk. "You thought you were the only one who could manipulate people? We recruited her because she's an expert on your type. She knew what you wanted to hear—what you wanted her to do. And she told us every step of your plot."

Betrayal was not new to Khan, and he expected even less from Admiral Marcus. But for _her_ to betray him… No matter how familiar he was with treachery, this was the strongest he had never felt the tearing constriction of denial. He may have doubted her courage or her motives, but until now he never doubted her love.

"Because of your exploit at Starbase 12," Marcus continued with a sigh of annoyance, "the covert operations we've been involved in have been compromised. Your torpedoes—and _everything_ they contain—have been duly destroyed and your designs withdrawn from all official records. If you wanted out of Starfleet, you got it. But now you'll see just how we do things in this century, my friend."

There was a rage deep within Khan that had been contained since the day he was awoken and the lit fuse inside of him had finally reached its end. In an eruption, he was out of the pilot's seat, looming over the controls and the screen that held the vile face of Marcus.

"The ten-fold strength of your collected fleets could not amount to the devastation I will wreak on you and your Federation!" he seethed. "It is war then, war open or understood must be resolved! Keep _her_ guarded well," his enraged roar faltered as he could not even say her name, "because she stands only second to you in annihilation! Both of your deaths are small, but I will make them resonate through Starfleet and your Federation with such a tremor they will be left shaken by it! Which if not victory, is yet revenge."

A fist pierced into the screen where Marcus's face gaped at him, his knuckles shattering through the glass and circuits and leaving them spotted with blood. The ship now beeped at the damage, its computerized chirps only further reminding him that he was now solitary in an insufferable territory of space. Fingers gripped at the edges of the console, the metal shrieking as it was torn from its terminal before he moved on to the controls themselves.

The entire cockpit was left in ruins, sparks flashing from dark corners as the ship now coughed out pitifully. But Khan was not satisfied. There was far too much pain and rage within that needed to be reconciled if he was to be content with the bloodied hands he now had. He went to the engine room and began throwing switches, overloading the warp core.

He watched from a distance as the ship exploded into a rain of sand granules and metallic debris, shaking the ground and sending a concussion through the air that even made him flinch. There was now a crater left in the shoreline. But it was nothing compared to what he felt inside.

Though he told Marcus to guard Marla, he could not fuel his anger enough to seek her out. All of that was directed at Marcus, Section 31, and Starfleet itself. No, he needed to let her go. It was a game well-played on her part and proof enough of the intelligence that he hoped she had. It was _his _mistake that her importance was even remotely comparable to that of his family. But he knew that should they ever cross paths, she would not walk away from him again.

Until that time, he would send her reminders of his true nature in the form of fire and disarray to shake the 'righteous' world she mistakenly thinks she owes allegiance to.

Then she will see who he was before her… and who he is without her.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

If it seems like this story is lacking in a resolution, that's because it is for two reasons: One, it continues in the film Star Trek Into Darkness; two, I have every intention of picking it back up after the events of the movie. Hope you enjoyed this enough to want a continuation! Reviews much appreciated!


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